


oh, you got me

by greekdemigod



Category: Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Porn With Plot, Smut, also i wrote chapter two on a liter of coffee so it might be a little disjointed, lots of hurt on luisa's side, spoilers for 3x01/chapter 45, this wasn't going to be smut at all but then luisa happened so -shrug-, very chaste mention of suicidal thoughts, violence warning because luisa is angry and punches rose a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 06:46:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8317885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greekdemigod/pseuds/greekdemigod
Summary: Part 1: Being in the submarine grates on her nerves, more and more and more each hour they’re submerged at five hundred feet below the surface. It’s becoming a physical ache, and it makes her so tired.Luckily, Rose has Luisa.Part 2: It feels like taking care of herself and it shifts something loose inside her chest, a tight knot that’s been there since even before they fled from the Marbella on that awful night, since even before Rose didn’t-die—since when her mother didn’t-die.Finally, Luisa has Rose.





	1. your love's got the best of me

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a comfort fic that I wrote to soothe my aching over 3x01, but then Luisa decided they were going to bang and who am I to tell her no.  
> It's been a while since I've written smut though and since this won't be proofread until tomorrow evening, I hope it'll do just fine for now.
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading!

The submarine is cramped, compressed. There is always something ticking, a piece of machinery whistling underneath the pressure of the ocean surrounding them. Sometimes a shadow slides past and fear pins-and-needles across her skin. It shows of fine craftsmanship but the metal still creaks here and there and all she can imagine is the whole thing blowing them apart.

But it has been a safe haven. No constantly looking over her shoulder, no thinking twelve steps ahead constantly, no waiting for finally another moment where she can steal Luisa back to their little bubble where they are together and nothing else matters.

Rose should feel grateful for it—and she _does_ —but being in the submarine grates on her nerves, more and more and more each hour they’re submerged at five hundred feet below the surface. It’s becoming a physical ache, and it makes her so _tired_.

But life in the submarine has been great otherwise. There has been no reason for powdered donuts yet so far, not even almost one, but she can understand that. Luisa is still processing and she respects that. She can wait—she truly has no problem with it, as long as Luisa is at least _around_ her, talks to her, shares meals with her.

Surprisingly, they are finding out so much more about each other than they ever have before.

Luisa wants to pick her personality apart, to see who she is beneath all the layers, beneath Susanna and Rose and Sin Rostro, and she asks a lot of questions to get there, ranging from ‘What is your favorite color?’ (it’s red) to ‘What was your childhood like?’ (she asked for a rain check on that, promising _“later”_ ).

They won’t get to a happily ever after if she isn’t honest at last, so she tries to be as truthful as she can, tries to remember as much as she can from before she stitched her whole life together of lies.

In return, she gets to ask Luisa questions too and it has been nothing short of illuminating.

Gathering this collection of details about Luisa only deepens her already profound love for the woman, by about a thousandfold.

But she notices herself getting shorter and snappier with the other, patience wearing thin fast—especially when Luisa decides to be _coy_ —and she knows it must be the submarine.

It all comes to a crescendo when a roil of the submarine knocks her off her feet. She falls on her back with a loud _thump_ , the impact shaking the breath from her, and she can’t seem to get it back. Her eyes are right at level with a round, fused-shut window and she’s looking up, at those billions and billions of gallons of water, and suddenly something with cold, dead fingers grips her and squeezes.

Her heart pounds loudly, like the deafening hammering of a church bell. Pain prickles across her entire body, piercing in its intensity. Her mouth is agape, she is sucking for air, but none rushes in to alleviate the pressure inside her chest. The cold seeps into her, filling her up with ice water, and she’s clawing at her throat because she can’t _breathe_ , she needs to _breathe_ , but the walls of the submarine close in, it’s like she can feel the pressure all around her, like she’s going to explode.

And then Luisa is there. Of course she is there. Warm fingers press to her clammy forehead, card through her hair, rub at her temples. It takes a while before it registers that Luisa is talking to her as well, in the most soothing, healing voice she has ever heard.

“That’s good. Slow breaths.” Fingertips trail along her brows, tickle beneath her jaw. “I’m so proud of you.”

Rose shudders with the first deep breath she manages; it slides down her throat with warmth, expels the cold, melts her down until she’s human again.

It takes a few moments before she’s completely calm again, her heart still racing, her throat sore, dried tears on her cheeks. There is nothing elegant or mysterious about her now, nothing cool and collected.

Luisa still looks at her as if she’s beautiful.

“You were having a panic attack,” the brunette whispers, helping Rose sit up. Arms snake around her waist and Rose leans back against the warmth and softness of the love of her life, the most caring and wonderful person she has ever met. “Are you okay now?”

“Yes.” Her voice sounds a little hoarse, but she can at least use it again. “Thank you.”

“Always.” The word is accompanied by a feather’s brush of lips against the bare nape of Rose’s neck. It ignites her. She is suddenly so _aware_ of Luisa behind her; hot breath, arms pressing against her sides (it’s a feeling of being confined she actually enjoys), breasts pushed up against her back.

She sounds, and feels, a little breathless when she says, “I think I felt claustrophobic for a moment.”

Luisa’s laugh is bright and warm like sunshine. “ _You_ chose the submarine.”

“I wanted to impress you. Be romantic.”

“Be dramatic, you mean.”

Rose is about to reply, tongue ready to whip out something sharp, lay down an undeniable argument, but deft, nimble fingers slide underneath her shirt and it evaporates from her mind completely.

“That’s an... _interesting_ way to win.”

“I have a knack for cheating.”

 _Yes_ , Rose thinks, while fingertips patter up her tensed abdomen—she doesn’t dare to move a single inch, afraid she’ll startle Luisa away—and trace the outline of her ribs beneath her skin. _Yes, you do_. She thinks of the night before the woman’s wedding to that good-for-nothing Allison, of how she asked Luisa to wear the wedding dress already so she could fuck her in it. She tries to think of all the times between Fort Lauderdale and now, but there have been too many.

When those searching, exploring hands palm at her breasts roughly she tilts her head back against Luisa’s shoulder and hisses between her teeth. It has been so long. “Luisa...”

“Yes, Rose?” She can hear the smirk in her voice, _knows_ even with her eyes closed that Luisa looks like a smug asshole. But she so deserves to.

“Please.”

Lips attach to the column of her neck and Rose tremors with the onslaught on her sensitive skin, fingers curling around Luisa’s calves to keep herself steady. She can feel the hickey forming on her neck, knows exactly what it’ll look like because even when they had to hide them, they both loved giving them.

And then Luisa _bites_ her. Right over her pulse point, sharp teeth raking across her skin. “ _Lu_ …” She feels vulnerable, but in such an intimate way that her belly fills with heat, and she’s already throbbing with an embarrassing need.

They have done this clothed plenty of times, so Luisa is a _pro_. She pushes the bra down so her fingers can knead breasts directly, skin to skin, rolling pebbled nipples between skilled, rough fingers. Rose keens a garbled version of Luisa’s name when her nipples are _pinched_ , harshly, and her arousal drips into her panties.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Luisa murmurs into her hair.

It’s so gentle in comparison to the way she’s being touched that Rose blanks for a moment, subject only to the animal hunger roaring through her, the need to not only be touched where she needs it but to get to touch in return, to get to ravish Luisa after having been cooped up in unfairly close quarters for almost a week now.

But if Luisa is anything, it’s a tease. She loves knowing she has that power and she knows just how to milk it for what it’s worth.

Rose has to purse her lips tightly together to keep from whining in protest when, instead of moving them down her pants Luisa lets her hands wander over her thighs. The stimulation is intense, fingers kneading into her thighs so close to where she’s burning up and dripping with need, but it’s not enough. There’s no relief in this, just more building up, and she doesn’t _need_ to be built-up.

She has been aroused so often this week, only to let it shift into a deep ache that thrums through her constantly. Every time she saw Luisa come out of the bathroom wearing loose, comfortable clothes and braiding her still-damp hair, every morning they woke up together, pressed together for shared warmth, the memories of her dreams still vivid in her mind—and they were never innocent.

Rose doesn’t think she has ever been more built-up than now. The one time Luisa edged her out of three orgasms before she finally allowed Rose to come doen’t even come close.

They haven’t properly had sex since the night of the storm, at the mental hospital.

“Lu, I _need_ you.” She can _feel_ her lover’s smile against the back of her neck and it makes her shiver.

“How badly?”

She twists her body slightly so she can kiss Luisa against her jaw. “Why don’t you feel for yourself?”

It works like a charm. Luisa unties the knot of Rose’s drawstring flannel shorts and traces two of her fingers across _ruined_ panties. They’re drenched, sticky to the touch. Rose shudders at this slightest bit of friction against her clit and her hips snap up yearning for more.

“Oh my,” Luisa whispers, then sucks an earlobe into her mouth to suckle and nip at gently, while her touch solidifies to rub Rose’s clit through the fabric.

Rose does many things at once: she whimpers softly, leans back hard against Luisa and fights to keep her thighs from squeezing shut. Only the latter she does consciously. Heat rushes through her, combating the very effective air-conditioning that keeps the submarine from overheating. There is nothing that stops Rose from doing that.

Her cheeks flush as she rolls her hips into Luisa’s fingers, not content at all with the tempo the brunette sets, even if the slow stretching of her pleasure always leads up to mind-blowing orgasms eventually.

She doesn’t have the patience for that kind of torture today.

“So needy, Ro,” Luisa mumbles, sounding entirely amused. She kisses the now-raven-haired (but in her mind always the most striking redhead) gently behind the ear and slides the panties aside.

She’s so wet that it isn’t difficult at all for Luisa to curl two fingers inside of her and this time there’s no stopping the trembling thighs from closing in around Luisa’s wrist. “ _God, Lu._ ”

The way Luisa touches her cycles between long strokes and short flicks, rough circling around her clit and sliding back inside her, and it is enough to drive every thought out of Rose’s mind beyond _Luisa Luisa Luisa_. This is what they have always been best at—pleasing each other—and it becomes so apparent when she’s already quivering after only a few minutes, riding Luisa’s hand with a wild abandon.

And then Luisa _stops_. A hand is clamped around her hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and Rose cries out, struggling against the grip. “No, no, Lu, no, please. Not today. Please.”

“You should see yourself right now,” Luisa mumbles, dark eyes glued to Rose’s face. Rose feels her cheeks burn, feels drops of sweat trickle down her temples, feels her curls stick to the sides of her face.

Her abdomen churns, her almost-high slowly ebbing away as the seconds tick by. She becomes aware, in crystalline detail, how loudly she’s panting, how heavily she’s trembling, how her tank top sticks to her, and she doesn’t care. She's a pleading, trembling mess and she  _doesn't care._

She groans. “Lu, please.”

Luisa kisses her temple and smiles. “I want to _see_ you come undone.”

There’s a small sound of discontent at the back of her throat as she slides off Luisa’s fingers herself—the shiver that racks through her is _intense_ , and she’s so _sensitive_ —but one of gratitude because Luisa pushes her down on the floor, flings a leg across her waist and bends down to kiss her.

It’s their first kiss since Susanna, but she can’t kiss back because Luisa fills her again at the same time, and roughly rubs her thumb against her clit, which means she won’t have to embarrassingly grind herself against the palm of Luisa’s hand, but it doesn’t matter.

Rose comes with an intimately soft moan. Her hips jerk rapidly, her orgasm pours between Luisa’s fingers, whenever she opens her eyes all she sees is warm brown hues and the smile of the girl she loves. There is _so_ much bliss, such an overwhelming amount of it, that it takes Rose several minutes to stop shaking.

Luisa is still there when her brain seemingly kicks in again. Rose’s smile is dark and lust-filled as she props herself up on her elbow and fists a hand into Luisa’s tank top, but the brunette shakes her head softly.

She knows that Luisa loves giving pleasure almost as much as she loves receiving it, but something tells her that’s not the reason for this rejection. But if Luisa isn’t ready, Rose will just have to remember to thank her for this later.

“I wanted to make sure you paid attention to your breathing,” Luisa says with a smug grin as she wipes her hand on her own tank top, then helps Rose upright. They get to their unsteady feet, on Rose’s part not at all because of the constant swaying of the submarine within the water currents, and before distance can start to exist between them again Rose puts her hand around the back of Luisa’s neck and pulls her in for a deep, appreciation-showing kiss.

“I’m sure that was some very medical thinking of you, Lu.” And, “Thank you.” It’s muttered between kisses, because now that they can do this again, Rose sure isn’t going to stop until they’ve made up for lost time.

And if she can’t fuck Luisa’s brain out just yet, she’ll have to use her tongue for whatever else good it can do. 

* * *

The submarine never feels threatening again.


	2. your love’s got me looking so crazy right now

Luisa thrives under a regular routine—that much has become clear over several runs of rehab—so she takes to creating one on the submarine. Breakfast, working out, shower, reading, lunch, talking to Rose, dinner, relaxing, sleep. It’s nothing special for a routine, but it works.

It feels like taking care of herself and it shifts something loose inside her chest, a tight knot that’s been there since even before they fled from the Marbella on that awful night, since even before Rose didn’t-die—since when her _mother_ didn’t-die.

She has always looked for so much in other people, but not least of all was it distraction from herself.

There has been a lot of crying; in a tiny alcove close to the engine room, in bed while Rose is in the shower, in the kitchen when she prepares them coffee from bottled water and pre-ground beans. And it’s _liberating_.

Maybe she does truly deserve better, not just from the people around her but also from herself.

It’s the morning of their _twelfth_ day on the submarine together and two thoughts strike her at once.

The first is this: she has never been alone with Rose for this long before.

The second is this: what was her addiction if not her trying to poison herself, over and over again?

The latter is blood-chilling, enough to wipe away all possible happiness at realizing that her wish has finally come true, that she has _actually_ run away with Rose, that they can be together now. That she can have the woman all to herself.

Her fingers halt midway her grab towards one of the cupboards. She suddenly doesn’t feel like making breakfast anymore, just wants to skip ahead to her pathetic attempts at doing physical exercises.

That’s where Rose finds her an hour later. Usually she does crunches, push-ups, made-up yoga poses. Luisa has never been terribly sporty, but it _helps_ to clear her mind and it rids her of excess energy that would drive her to make decisions she’ll regret; sex has always been the way she stays fit, honestly, but if she does that with Rose now, she knows she will push all that hurt and grief down again, just cover it up until alcohol is the only way to alleviate her of all that pain turned inward to destroy herself.

But her work-out has never been like this. She’s punching into a pillow she taped to the wall as if it has, like, stolen her nephew or murdered her father or something.

She doesn’t _stop_ punching, either, when Rose touches her gently against the shoulder. But she does turn and the fists land against Rose’s arms, are caught by the woman’s strong hands, and then she’s pushing hard against Rose’s chest to try and wriggle out of the other’s embrace.

Maybe there’s a lot of anger buried inside her, too.

She trashes and bucks against Rose’s arms until the inferno dies down to a small flame, then slumps against Rose and squeezes her eyes shut against the reality of what she’s just done. Her knuckles and fingers tingle with ache, her muscles burn, the air conditioning against her heated skin is much too harsh to be comfortable.

“I’m sorry,” she croaks. Luisa doesn’t want to face what she’s done, see the hurt or the disappointment or the anger on Rose’s face. She has never been a fighter, always a lover, a healer.

She can’t believe she just attacked Rose like that.

But when she opens her eyes again, the only thing Rose looks is concerned. “Are you angry with me?”

Luisa looks sheepish, but she doesn’t lie. “Yes.”

“That’s understandable.” She releases her hold on the smaller woman, but lifts Luisa’s hands to her mouth, to kiss red, raw knuckles softly, soothingly. “Take your time. I won’t leave.”

Before, Rose’s kisses had the most singular ability to hyper-charge her skin and streak like lightning through her. Now they whisper softly against her skin and she can feel tears build. She has to untangle herself from Rose before it gets too much.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

Luisa finds no comfort in the scalding water or in the soft towel she wraps around herself afterwards, no comfort in seeing her face stare back at her in the mirror. She looks clean and well-rested and healthy, but she also looks haunted. It’s a look she knows well.

She joins Rose in the kitchen, pries the woman away from the late breakfast she is preparing, and leads her away by the hands. A look of simultaneous confusion and excitement crosses the other’s face when she notices they’re heading towards their bedroom.

Luisa climbs onto the bed and tugs Rose along with her.

“I have some things I should say to you,” she says as she lies down on her side, face resting down on her pillow, and pats the spot beside her. “Please?”

A soft smile touches upon Rose’s face. “Of course. Whatever you need.”

But first, there’s silence. There’s Luisa looking at Rose, chewing on her bottom lip as she fights through her warring emotions. She never expected she would feel like this—she has always been simple and direct both in and _about_ her feelings.

There is nothing simple about this.

“How _could_ you?” is the first thing that leaves her mouth, hastily thrown out before she convinces herself not to go through with this again. It’s rushed, words too fast, clinging together, but Rose understands—her eyes sharpen, her smile falters, but, thankfully, she doesn’t speak.

Luisa doesn’t think she would be able to go on if Rose tried to defend herself.

“You... you killed my _father_ , and you kidnapped my _nephew_. You locked me up, _knowing_ what it would do to me. You’re—I’ve never even told anyone about my mother, except _you_ , and you used that against me.” Her anger and hatred burned her sadness, or else she would have been bawling by now, shaking with mourning of how innocently happy they could have once been but would now never be.

“And worst of all... you made me believe you were dead. _Dead_ , Rose. The love of my life, dead. I got so bad after that. I’d never... Even though she didn’t... That bridge was still...” She can’t. It’s too fresh, too raw. Shaking her head, she looks up at Rose again, to see the woman look back at her with so much _pain_ written across her features that it takes Luisa’s breath away. “That’s not love. All those things—you can’t tell me that was love.”

Rose still doesn’t speak, maybe sensing that Luisa isn’t done yet, or maybe knowing that there aren’t words that can make up for that.

“But you also saved me, so many times. You helped me through so many relapses, through my divorce, through—” She breathes as if she has just run a marathon; everything she has been holding onto, all the pent-up rage and grief and loss and uncertainties of all those years, shake loose and rattle inside her. “That _is_ love.”

Rose cups her face gently and the touch of her fingertips is like ice against her burning ache.

“I can’t forgive you some of the things you have done to me. But, call me crazy—”

“Never.”

Luisa leans against Rose’s hand, eyes closing as a small smile grows and grows and grows. It’s the first real happiness she has felt since they’ve been on the submarine. “I’m crazy in love with you though.”

She can hear a sharp intake of breath, a rustling of sheets, and then feels a mouth against her own. Luisa melts into it, kissing back with a freshly-awoken hunger. Like clouds parting for sunshine, untangling her deep-rooted hurt makes space for her positive emotions to start growing again.

There is so much love there, and longing, and want for all the other has to offer; every smile, every kiss, every touch. Every moment she can spare. Luisa wants it all.

And she wants _this_ —the distance between them finally vanished, slim bodies pressed together, legs tangled with legs, an arm around her waist to keep her close.

When Rose stops her from kissing her again Luisa’s eyes fly open.

“Lu...” There’s a hint of pink to Rose’s cheeks, a darkness to usually bright blue eyes. “Are you sure?”

She’s pretty sure her smile beams. “Yes.”

“Do you—can I—” Rose groans and takes a deep breath before she tries again: “Is it okay if I kiss you here?” Her finger taps against Luisa’s neck, then softly rubs across the tan skin, in quick spirals.

“ _God, yes._ ”

Luisa experiences an unexpected dash of hesitation, but it’s drowned out soon after by lips pressing beneath her jaw and it feels so _good_. Not in just a purely physical way, either. Rose could tear her throat out, could kill her in probably a thousand different ways, and instead she’s rubbing her sides softly and kissing her with such silent reverence and it vibrates through her.

Her head’s spinning already after only two kisses and it grows exponentially worse as they trail down her throat, to the tender spot where her neck meets her shoulder, and she shivers against Rose’s body, moans softly into the cool submarine air.

“Can I take your shirt off?”

Luisa lifts her arms to let Rose take it off of her, but though she bares herself, leaves herself vulnerable and exposed, she feels protected. There’s hands moving over her abdomen, and then there’s hands palming her breasts, and then, oh, there’s heat everywhere.

Rose is so gentle, so careful. She looks ready to stop the second Luisa tells her to. Usually she doesn’t like being treated like she’s fragile, but now Rose allowing her to set as slow or fast a tempo as she wants is exactly what she needs.

She nods when Rose’s fingers crawl slowly up her spine; her nipples are hard before her bra’s even fully off. She arches when Rose’s mouth closes around one of them; her breath has escaped her moments ago.

Luisa burns with an intensity never matched before.

Rose’s lips ghost over her breasts, but when she starts to go lower Luisa tugs at dark hair and tilts Rose’s head up towards her.

“I’ll stop,” the other says immediately. “It’s okay, we don’t have to—”

“That’s not it,” Luisa quickly replies, fingers dancing up to cup pale cheeks and pull her close for another kiss. “I want you close.” Another kiss. Another kiss. Another, another, another. “Stay?”

“Gladly.”

Rose asks again before she takes off Luisa’s skirt, and again when her fingers trace along the elastic band of her panties. “Ro,” Luisa sighs, the nickname echoing through her—it feels like coming home. “I’m yours.”

The first touch to her clit is electric; Luisa whines out a pitiful, tiny sound and scrunches up her face. Rose kisses the spot between her eyebrows and it makes her go absolutely _weak_. Luisa leans against Rose, forehead to forehead, gaze to gaze, smile to smile. Her breath thunders out of her as Rose circles her clit slowly, digits sliding easily through her arousal.

“I love you,” Rose whispers and just like that, Luisa comes. The orgasm doesn’t last long, just a few seconds of hips bucking into Rose’s hand, throat closing around a moan that sounds a little something like _Ro_. It’s not as much a physical orgasm as an emotional one; Luisa has never experienced anything like it at all.

“I love you too,” she whispers back, mouth claiming the other’s to show it.

Luisa reaches between their bodies to pull Rose’s hand from between her thighs and brings the fingers up to her mouth, and Rose leans in to kiss her knuckles again, and they’re still looking at each other, so close that nothing else exists.

Luisa slides her leg between Rose’s and moves. They release twin moans and then smile almost shyly at each other. Arms wind around each other, but not before Rose has moved her panties aside, and now they’re continuous motion, rocking against each other, hitched little breaths hissed against each other’s lips.

Luisa bites down on her bottom lip when she feels Rose’s arousal drip along her thigh, feels her own arousal gush as Rose sucks that lip between _her_ teeth instead.

The world becomes blinding white, throbbing heartbeats, shuddering against each other. Luisa comes with a cry, Rose with a whimper. They are pressed so tightly together there is no beginning, no end; just _them_.

For a long time, they don’t say anything at all; communicate only through touches and kisses and glances. When Luisa starts crying, Rose tucks her into her arms and cries with her.

They’re both sniffling but grinning after that, still so sated from what they’ve just done, so tender because of what it means. Rose can’t stop kissing Luisa everywhere she can reach.

“Are you a cat or a dog person?” Luisa asks when the slow rocking of the submarine and the softness of Rose threatens to lull her to sleep.

“Hm? A cat person, why?”

“I want to head up to the real world.” Luisa nudges her nose against Rose’s and smiles. “So we can finally have that life together that I’ve always dreamed of. And a cat.”

Rose nods, smile the most genuine it has ever been. “Anything you want.”

Luisa burrows into Rose’s neck, to just lie there, press her ear to her lover’s skin to hear her heart thump. “I’ve already got that.”

Rose does too.

* * *

The foundation for the rest of their life together slots into place.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
